


When You're Done with Something

by everyoneisemo



Category: The Brothers Bloom
Genre: Character Death, Family, Flashback, Incest, Memories, Multi, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyoneisemo/pseuds/everyoneisemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bang Bang looks back on her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Done with Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [airspaniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/gifts).



She's melting. Of course, that's an absurd way to put it – really, she's being torn apart. Blown up. Destroyed. She's burning and breaking apart. But with the last bit of consciousness she's allowed, Bang Bang thinks of it as melting.

Melting like ice cream on the sidewalk in July.

As she waits for her mind to blink out, she watches her life go by. She's never really thought about it before, but if she had she would've called bullshit on anyone claiming they've experienced this phenomenon. It's just too romantic, too cliché. Right out of some inspirational story in a cheap paperback. The glimpse of the past that changes everything for the young, damaged protagonist. Complete bullshit.

But, no, apparently, it's non-fiction. This isn't the first time she's been wrong but it _is_ the last. Huh. She never would have guessed one of her regrets would be not making enough mistakes. Funny how dying puts things in perspective.

She watches her life.

First, she's her eight-year-old self – a self with a name and a tangible future. Takumi, her father's son, is taking her to see the fireworks at the park. Her wide eyes absorb those distant, shimmering explosions – so bright one second and dark the next. And then they're just smoke on the wind, twisting and spreading until they're gone. Until it's like nothing happened at all.

Her eight-year-old self thinks the fireworks are terrifying and beautiful beyond words. She wants the show to go on forever, every blast and boom and bang getting bigger and better until the world is gone and there's nothing but those dazzling colors dancing in the sky. She hates Takumi when he says it's time to go home, even after the sky has been long dark and there's nothing left to see. And then, suddenly, she's falling asleep in his arms on the train. Just an exhausted little girl.

She sees herself, four years later, watching the reflection of her step-brother – what's left of him – in his bedroom mirror. Her eyes are round and young. Too young. The narcissistic pang of pity she feels for the younger self staring back at her is almost amusing.

She's sixteen, now. Her step-mother is counting money in the other room. No one stops her. No one stops the man from lying down in her teenage self's bed. And no one stops him when he takes her away. Her step-mother counts more money.

She's twenty-something, on her knees in an alleyway. There's something poking into her back – a gun? – and she clenches her fists. Something explodes about a block away. The poking stops. Scraping footsteps fade away from her.

It's actually quite a familiar scenario. So familiar that she can't pinpoint where or when this is taking place. But before she can figure it out, her lips curl up and that particular memory fades.

She's face down. Something's poking at her neck – it's a needle, this time. Beautiful, painful words scratch into her skin. If anyone asks, she'll say they were in her step-brother's note. No one ever does. The ache goes numb.

Then it's months or years later, and she hears the voices. The closer she gets, the louder they become. Murmurs to mumblings to shouts of praise. As soon as she's found them, they're hers. Or she's theirs. It doesn't matter because she's in and they don't question it.

The Brothers Bloom. _Her_ brothers. She sits on the patio and detonates charge after charge in the dunes below. Bloom to her right, Stephen to her left. They exchange a look, they shrug, and she destroys half a dozen dime store dolls with a touch of her finger.

There's no transition. Suddenly Stephen's above her and they're fucking, hard. It feels good enough, but just barely. Stephen doesn't care, not really. She isn't what he wants. He isn't what she wants. But they get by in that moment, thrusting and taking and exploding together.

Again, it isn't a spectacularly rare occurrence. But when the memory doesn't flicker away, she realizes this time is different. Unique. There's a sudden burst of light as the door flies open. She can hear Bloom panting in the doorway. She can't see Bloom because Stephen is still inside of her and her vision is filled with the flash of shame that crosses his face. She barely even catches it, but it's there.

She doesn't know what causes it. It could be the fact that Bloom's seen them – this must be the first time, every other time Bloom left immediately – or the fact that he's with her. In this moment in the past, she doesn't really give it any thought. But as her body is melting away and she feels her last chance at wondering about anything at all slipping out of her grip, she wonders. And her memories continue.

Bloom's trying to leave again. He's given his usual speech, he's gestured in anger. Stephen laughs it off and offers him a drink. All three of them, they know how much of it's an act. It'll be over in the morning.

For now, Bloom tears out the front door. The same as any other time. He runs. But this time, Bang Bang follows him.

When she's looked back on this night before, she's never been able to explain what made her do it. What made her follow this time? What was different? And right now, as her life flashes by in its vibrant, colorful glory, she's no closer to an answer.

The only difference between this time and all the others is she follows. She can't see any other significant difference. That's all there is.

Bloom's in the cab ahead of hers. She doesn't hurry the driver – in fact, she takes out a cigarette and leans back in her seat, peering down the tip of her nose. It's late enough at night that the streets are empty and this chase scene drips along like molasses. Calmly, she sets off a brilliant burst in the dark, lighting up. And for some reason, that's when he decides to twist in his seat. He can see her face illuminated by the lighter for a brief second, and he stops the cab.

They stand on the sidewalk. Bloom doesn't have an explanation for the night either. Nobody knows why she followed. Why he stopped. All he says is, "I don't need him."

Bang Bang stares, silent as ever. He shakes his head and leads the way to the hotel. And after that, Bloom's attempts to leave are fewer and farther between. They stay together. She's glad.

Suddenly, painfully, the past year flashes through her mind, each event in quick succession. Bloom leaving for real. The fear. Stephen getting Bloom back. Penelope joining their little gang.

Penelope the Mark. Penelope the Smuggler. Penelope the Con Artiste. Penelope writhing against her bed on a train in the midst of a thunderstorm. Penelope writhing under her tongue and against her fingers. Penelope, a welcome addition. A sister, of sorts. Penelope with Bloom. A sister-in-law?

Penelope leaving. Three months later, her voice on the line. Penelope with her big, forgiving heart. Penelope the Queen of Hearts.

"You've been awfully quiet." Bloom's words. Her thoughts. Stephen's silence. The missing piece. The breaking family. "I'm doing this for her, you know." He's doing it for himself.

The explosion. Stephen's eyes flashing as they drag him away. The honesty. The desperation.

Not knowing.

Bloom's eyes when she hands him the crane. Not exploding. For him. Seeing his denial. Seeing the end of the false family.

Her own eyes blurring. Her hand blindly groping for the car door.

Boom.

She's done.


End file.
